Page 47 of Wicked Nightmare

These fucks thought they could break us, control us. But they had no idea what they'd unleashed. With Lakey by my side, there was no limit to the carnage we could wreak.

And I was going to enjoy every bloody second of it.

She let me go, going to stand at the desk again, her trembling fingers reached for the next sheet of paper. Her face, usually a mask of sweet mischief, was now pale and drawn. As she unfolded it, my stomach twisted.

How the fuck could shit get even worse?

"Fuck me sideways," I muttered, eyeing the clinical list of drug names and dosages. Next to it was a photo that made me pause. Lakey, strapped to a chair, eyes vacant and unseeing. She was covered in welts, but her hands were cut open. Almost as if she had been pounding against a wall or something. I felt as if I’d seen this before, a weird sensation of déjà vu passing over me.

"What the fuck is this?" Her fingers traced the lines of drug names.

My mind raced, piecing together the horrific puzzle. "Scopolamine, ketamine, fuck... even good ol' sodium thiopental. Jesus Christ, they threw the whole pharmacopeia at you, didn't they?"

"Cam," Lakey's voice cracked. "I remember... things. Terrible things I did. Things I’d never, ever fucking do to an innocent human being. I feel like I’m watching myself, my hands… moving, cutting. But it wasn't me, it was—"

"It wasn't you," I cut her off. "It was whatever they pumped you with."

Grabbing the pictures from her, I flipped to the last one. She was standing over a crumpled body, unrecognizable. This wasn’t my girl. This was something out of a nightmare. Her hair was dark, stained with blood as she stared with unseeing eyes at the corpse below her. In her hand, a small karambit.

As much as I loved her murderous tendencies, I loved them when SHE was in control. Not when someone else was pulling the punches. This just felt perverted.

What the fuck were they testing this shit for? Who wants to control a bunch of girls in a nunnery?

I cradled Lakey against me, savoring the silence that fell between us. She wasn’t screaming, wasn’t yelling. No. She was just picture perfect calm and the only tell that she was raging underneath was the slight tremor in her hand.

"You know," I mused, breaking the quiet, "those bastards thought they were so clever. Unlocking your potential for violence. As if you needed any help with that, sweetheart."

Lakey tilted her head up. "Are you saying I was already perfect, Cam?"

"Perfect? Maybe," I smirked. "But a goddamn work of art? Fucking rights."

She giggled, and her hand settled. "Flatterer."

As I held her, my gaze swept the room, taking in the chaos. Papers strewn everywhere; furniture overturned.

That's when it caught my eye.

Amidst the debris, a glint of metal caught my eye. I narrowed my focus, zeroing in on a pile of shredded paper. There, half-buried under the carnage, was a rolodex box.

"Well, that’s interesting. What do we have here?"

Lakey followed my gaze. "Is that..."

"Oh yeah, baby," I breathed, already imagining the possibilities. "Looks like we just hit the lotto."

I lunged forward, snatching the rolodex from the debris with a triumphant laugh. “Fucking jackpot, indeed!"

"Let me see," she demanded, reaching for the box.

I held it just out of her grasp, teasing. "Ah, ah, ah, patience, darling. You know good things come to those who wait."

She pouted, but the corner of her mouth twitched. "Since when have we ever been good, Cam?"

"Fair point," I conceded, flipping open the rolodex. Names, identifying numbers, a weird, color-coded dot at the top of each card, an encrypted gold mine of information on the sick fucks who'd tortured us.

"You know what this means, don't you?" I asked.

Lakey's answering smile was razor-sharp. "Playtime?"